


Center of My Sinful Earth

by inkstainedcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Angst, Angst and Drama, Castiel's Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Dark, Deviates From Canon, Drama, If Supernatural (TV) Were on HBO, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester, Stolen Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Tattooed Dean Winchester, Witch Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:08:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27788767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkstainedcas/pseuds/inkstainedcas
Summary: Dean and Cas have a good thing going. Ever since Castiel rebelled against Heaven, they’ve found a home in empty diners and highway talks. It helps that, between Castiel’s powers and Dean’s expertise, hunting is easier now than it's ever been before. From the outside looking in, the pair is almost perfect-- but there’s always a calm before the storm comes. Rumors spread quick, and when the hurricane hits, they’ll each have to choose what to hold onto, and how far they’re willing to go to do it.-A ten-chapter project based on a loose interpretation of the “HBO SPN” concept created by fandom. This fic has some gritty and/or morally gray themes, but it isn’t all dark.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	1. The Calm Before

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist in progress: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/28oJg1Bb7KMEn8XlvAbs80?si=_XjANb5nSs6gIRshqNFzAQ

_What’s more unnerving, the storm or the calm before?_

_-Herman Hoyte_

* * *

_Dean Winchester is saved._

The Righteous Man had been a mission, a resurrection that Castiel had been proud to carry out. Draped in the flag of Heaven, he’d singed his wings in Hell. 

If he’d thought he was tainted then, he was loath to think of what he was now. Poisoned, as his brothers would say, by humanity. 

Castiel looked over to the man in the driver’s seat. He was filled to the brim with pain and regret, and yet he was more alive than any human the angel had ever laid eyes upon. His life was not limited to the pulse Castiel could feel racing beneath tanned skin when they were alone, nor to the steady movement of his lungs or even the breath that left cupid’s-bow lips. 

Dean wasn’t just alive, he _lived._ He _loved._

He taught Castiel about the things he loved, the things that made his soul alight. This broken man took his hands and dragged him into dim roadhouse bars and under neon diner lights, outshining it all with his whiskey-warm grin. Something in him had settled, his soul growing to fill the body that Cas had once put back together. His passion filled each crack in him, his light balmed every scar. 

He was imperfect, but he was real, and he taught Cas to love in a way that was messy and uncertain and so very, very human. 

Sometimes, when Dean was asleep in a one-bed motel room, breathing softly beside him, Castiel would roll over on the time-worn mattress and wrap his wings around the human. He was shielding him, winding himself around that bright and hurting soul, but he was also reminding himself of what he was. There, in the dead of night, Castiel was an angel with no home. 

_Stay,_ Dean had pleaded with him once, his hand wrapped around the angel’s wrist. His gold-flecked eyes had shone and his words had dripped with want. Castiel had simply smiled. _Oh, Dean. Where would I go?_

Castiel rebelled. He would like to say that it was so he could do what was good, to be free enough to choose what he thought was right, rather than following blind orders from his commanders. In truth, though, those drives came second to one human. 

Dean reached over the console for his hand, the silver ring he’d always worn brushing coolly against Cas’s skin. The angel blinked blue eyes that had once belonged to someone else, turning his face from the open window to look to Dean instead. 

“Are we nearly there?” he guessed. “You know, if you would just let me fly us--”

“No,” Dean insisted, predictably so. “You know how I feel about that. Besides, I like having Baby with me. Feels safer.” The human pointed vaguely towards a battered highway sign that suggested they were coming up on their exit. Castiel’s gaze followed the gesture to the sign before falling on the tattoo that wrapped around Dean’s forearm, somewhat faded with time and scarred in one spot. He smiled slightly to himself. “But yeah, almost there. Saw a billboard for a hotel a while back. Might even get some rest before daylight.”

Cas rolled his eyes, knowing fully well that Dean would see. “You aren’t going into a vampire nest without any sleep, Dean. ‘Might’ is not an option.”

The hunter shrugged. “Eh. What are they gonna do, bite me? Dare ‘em to try. The last one that tried--”

Cas shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearing his throat. “I may have gone overboard.”

Dean’s grin was wolfish, a hint of amusement playing at the edge. “It was hot.”

The angel shook his head. He’d had times that he’d lost himself, most often when Dean was in danger. Despite leaving Heaven behind, he wanted to do good. He wanted to help bring peace to the humans that had been suffering far too much for too long, but sometimes...there were instances where he lost sight of his mission. When he’d seen a vampire with its teeth just inches from Dean’s jugular, daylight cutting through the cracks of the barn and glinting off its already-bloodied fangs, he’d gone too far. A protective rage seared through him like his Grace itself had been sharpened to a serrated point. There wasn’t much left of the monster by the time Dean had brought him back down from the high. 

He’d learned to start buying his trench coats in black. Easier to keep clean. 

He turned his attention back out the window, watching streetlights pass until Dean pulled the Impala into a nearly-empty parking lot and cut the engine. Cas knew the drill by now. He got out, and while Dean stepped inside to reserve their room, Cas went around to the trunk and opened it to retrieve the hunter’s things and his own small duffel, the same brand as Dean’s, but still stiff and new. 

Sam still traveled with them sometimes, but he’d taken more to his own path these days, often picking up the calls of other hunters in need or digging into research to hone his spellwork. Dean had fought tooth and nail to get Sam to drop the “magic shit” at first, but eventually, it was the elder Winchester that had caved. Sam was saving more people in a month now than he had in a year before, and it was a difficult fact to argue with. Still, Dean had kept a distance from it for long enough that it had made the most sense for them both to take a step back. They checked in via text each night, kept tabs on what state the other was in in case one went missing, and met up every couple of months. It worked. 

And besides, while Dean had never done well alone, he wasn’t now. Castiel was a near-constant companion these days. They were still navigating what that meant, they still hadn’t put words to their situation, but he was _there_ , and that seemed to be enough for both of them. 

Dean stepped back out of the lobby doors, a key ring hanging loosely off of one finger as he jerked his head toward the row of rooms to their left. “Number eight,” he called out, and Cas simply nodded, carrying the stuffed duffels as if they were nothing. He met Dean at the door and watched him struggle with the key for a moment before they finally stepped inside. Cas dropped the bags and reached to flick on the light switch, but it did little to brighten up the room. He was used to it. 

There was only one bed in the room, but he was used to that, too. He didn’t sleep, and when he rested, he never strayed far from Dean. At first, it had been a fumbling and awkward thing, sharing a bed, but they had shared much more than that in the days since. Now, it was only natural. He settled himself on the edge of the bed as Dean stripped off his tattered coat and kicked his boots off on his way to the bathroom. 

“Gonna take a shower. Can’t have the vamps seein’ me looking like a mess,” he grinned, pausing to lean in the doorway with that Winchester mischief on his face. “Unless you wanna join?” 

It was a joke, but Castiel knew he could choose to accept if he wanted. Tonight, though, he only shook his head. “Try not to fall. I should save my energy for when you inevitably break another bone in the nest tomorrow, rather than using it on a concussion.” 

Dean shrugged and turned toward the bathroom, already starting to peel off his shirt. “Suit yourself, sweetheart. Find us somethin’ good on the TV.”

The door closed, and Cas was left alone in the room. It was quiet for a moment before he heard the water stream sputtering to life in the bathroom. The angel looked up to the ceiling, a certain sadness that he hid in front of Dean falling onto his face. Here, in the empty room, he was free to show even the most vulnerable parts of his truth. “I hope you are well,” he whispered into the night, not sure who he was speaking to. Heaven. His brothers. His father, who he had once searched for dutifully. 

All he knew was that no one was listening. 

* * *

Dean woke up under a pile of tangled sheets. He lifted his face to the light sifting through the blinds, grunting, and dropped his head back down to press into the pillow. He didn’t have to look to know that Cas was there. He couldn’t feel his body beside him, but there was a dip in the mattress, and he’d bet anything that the angel was sitting there on the edge. “What time’s it?” he muttered, voice thick with sleep.

Cas looked over his shoulder from the old book he’d been flipping through, the pages yellowed and fragile. He’d taken to exchanging books with Sam now and again, doing some reading on his own as well as translating texts that the human would have a difficult time deciphering on his own. “Sometime after seven,” he replied simply, twisting to see the old alarm clock on the nightstand as if to check. He nodded to himself. 7:13. He closed the book and set it on the table, flicking on the dim lamp. “Get up, we should try and get to the nest as soon as we can. And I’ve learned better than to take you in one uncaffeinated, so we’ll have to stop somewhere on the way.”

Dean lifted his head again then, a sleepy smirk at his lips. “Aw, sweetheart, you know me so well,” he said with a short bark of laughter. “Fine. You sure about this? I mean, we could take another day or two in town, hit up some witnesses, make sure we have the right address…”

The angel stood, shaking his head. His coat had been thrown over a chair in the night, but he returned to it now, slipping it and his now-familiar black tie back where they belonged. “I'm sure about the address. Don’t you trust me, Dean?”

There was a moment that Dean’s face fell, fleeting but _there_. Castiel was certain of it. He stopped where he stood, one hand still lingering on his tie. He tilted his head to one side and narrowed his eyes at the man. “Dean,” he said, the name leaving his mouth with a soldier’s firmness. A commander. “What is it?”

The human recovered, quick enough for someone who didn’t know him better to brush it off, perhaps, but Castiel knew every part of him. Or so he’d thought. “Nothin’, angel. ‘Course I trust you.” He slipped out from beneath the sheets and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress to stand. When he stretched, a sliver of the intricate sigil tattoo on his stomach showed, before slipping back into cover when Dean’s arms dropped to his sides. Cas opened his mouth to continue questioning him, but he felt it coming. “Gonna get dressed so you can treat me to that coffee.”

Dean grabbed a pair of black jeans and his favorite shirt before making his way into the bathroom, Cas’s eyes following him all the while. He wasn’t sure what Dean was hiding, but he could tell it was something. He didn’t like it. They were much more open with each other now than they had once been. There had been more than one night spent with the both of them awake, sharing secrets they had held tight in their chest until those moments. Sometimes Dean’s breath was vodka-tinged on these nights, sometimes not. The ‘not’ nights were becoming more frequent, and yet…

Yet, there was this secret in the room now, resting heavily in the space between them. It felt as solid as a wall and twice as big, and Castiel wasn’t sure what to do. It was clear that Dean’s guard was now up, though, and he knew that attempting to barrel through it would do nothing but raise it a mile high. He sighed. His eyes flickered to Dean’s bag. The man would never know if he had a look in it, nor his phone, but he turned away from them both. Breaking their trust further would never repair it, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t determined to get to the bottom of this.

Castiel was waiting by the door when Dean emerged from the bathroom, freshly dressed, with his bedhead tamed into a more intentional mess atop his head. The hunter knelt to tug on his boots and lace them, the angel watching in silence all the while. It wasn’t until Dean strapped his machete sleeve to his thigh that he looked up at Cas with a raised brow. “What?” he asked, his tone sharper than it had been with the angel in a while.

Cas simply turned his head, sighing. Clearly, this conversation wasn’t going to be an easy one, or one that came quickly. He didn’t dare push it now and start a fight before they went into the nest. They’d been an excellent team as of late. Between Cas’s powers and Dean’s expertise, they were...well, damn near unstoppable, but any misstep was a dangerous one that could get them hurt. That could get _Dean_ hurt. An argument wasn’t worth that. 

“Nothing,” he replied at last, stepping into Dean’s space. He watched the disbelieving way Dean raised his brow at him. “Nothing we need to talk about right now, at least,” he clarified truthfully. He frowned, though, nodding at the silver cross dangling off of one of Dean’s ears. “We’ve talked about this, Dean.”

The hunter scowled, arms crossed over his chest. “It was one time, Cas. Not every vamp is gonna try and pull on--”

“It was twice,” Cas corrected. “Twice you’ve had that thing pulled out of your ear. Go and get your stud.”

With his most theatrical sigh, Dean shuffled his way back into the bathroom, emerging with a less pullable earring in place of the cross. He scrubbed a hand over the morning scruff on his face and grabbed his hunting duffel. “Happy?”

Cas smiled. “Happy,” he confirmed, and led the way out of the room. 

* * *

The nest was, of course, in the middle of nowhere. 

Castiel navigated them carefully. GPS was still fairly unreliable in towns like these, especially out in the woods, so he had a yellowed map splayed out in his lap. It had been used before, towns crossed out in black marker, circled in vibrant red. The nest was marked with pen, labelled in Cas’s sloping handwriting. He’d done his research before they’d arrived in town, doing much of it in the car on the day-long drive here. The _finding_ of the nest was easier than usual, which was exactly what had put such a pit in Cas’s stomach. 

The trail was too long. Too bold. Only a nest that was either extraordinarily powerful or extraordinarily stupid would leave behind something so easily traced, and he and Dean weren’t known for their good luck. 

They pulled over about a quarter mile from the nest, not wanting the sound of the engine to give them away, nor to get the Impala trapped in the forest mud. They got out in silence, with only the creaking of the car doors to betray them, if anyone were listening, and though it was morning, the sky was grey. Cas wouldn’t be surprised if a storm rolled in that day. He mirrored Dean’s walk to the trunk and took a machete of his own before double-checking for the presence of his blade. 

Dean was pulling a fingerless black glove over his blade hand, one that helped with his grip-- on Cas’s insistence, after an incident a few months back-- when he stopped and sighed. “Cas,” he muttered, turning to loosely wrap his hand around the angel’s wrist and still him. “You’ve been quiet.”

“I have not,” he grumbled in response, his eyes cast down to avoid Dean’s. “I navigated us the whole way here. You even listened, for once.”

The hunter shook his head. “You know that ain’t what I meant. I don’t want anything getting in the way of this hunt, man--”

Cas didn’t mean for his chuckle to come out as bitterly as it did. He slipped his wrist from Dean’s grasp and closed the trunk, stepping back. “And that’s the only thing you’re worried about, _man_?”

Dean looked taken aback, faltering for a moment. “You know I didn’t--”

With a scoff, Cas started walking north, down a mostly-hidden path that he knew would lead down to the once-abandoned building that now housed the nest. Dean missed a beat before gathering himself and rushing to catch up. “Fuck, Cas--”

“Just don’t, Dean.” Cas had thought he would be fine being patient, that he could wait to find out what it was that Dean was hiding from him, but the longer he sat with the thought, the more it stung. 

He rebelled. He left. He put every ounce, every _drop,_ of faith into Dean. Did he not deserve the same?

The silence stretched on, and finally, Cas stopped beneath the shade of a heavy-hanging tree. Dean stopped with him, the greyish light falling on his face between the shadow of the leaves.

“You’re hiding something,” Cas said at last, failing to hide the edge of hurt in his voice. There was anger, too, but it was weak and gave into doubt. “I can tell.”

Green eyes flickered away from his own. A tell-tale sign, every time Dean tried to lie to him. The small gesture felt like a shard of ice in Cas’s chest. “I’m not.”

Cas barked out a laugh, humorless and dry. “Right. I can see this isn’t going to go anywhere,” he scoffed. He turned to walk away, but Dean’s hand landed on his shoulder at the last moment. 

“Cas, wait.” A beat, a decision, and Dean stepped in closer, gently turning the angel to face him. He stood in his space, silhouetted by the light, and rested both hands on Cas’s shoulders. “I’m-- There is something, okay? But I ain’t ready to talk about it right now. It could be dangerous, and I don’t know how you’ll take it, and I just…” He dropped his head, his forehead nearly grazing Cas’s as he did so. There was a soft intake of breath, and finally he raised it again. He leveled his gaze with Castiel’s. “Trust me, please? We’ll talk about this later. I’m just tryin’ to figure some things out, but it could be good for both of us.” 

There was something in Dean’s eyes. A glint, not unlike the one Sam had when he spoke about his magic. A spark of _possibility,_ yes, but also something darker. A hunger. 

There was an unsettled feeling in Cas’s chest, but he didn’t have time to sit with it. Every second was a wasted one, especially with the storm coming to block out the advantage of daylight. He closed his eyes. Swallowed. Something was wrong, but he had to put his faith in Dean. Though other things had turned out to be unworthy of his devotion, surely Dean would never be the next on the list.

“Tonight,” he insisted. “We talk about this tonight. Understood?”  
  


Dean flinched. He’d clearly been hoping for more time, but after a moment’s investigation, he could tell that Cas was dead serious about this. Cas could see the moment he conceded written all over his face. “Yeah. Yeah, tonight,” Dean said, and dropped his hand to Cas’s. He held it and brought it to his lips, kissing one of the roughened knuckles of his blade hand. “I promise, Cas.”

The angel paused before nodding, his own shoulders slackening just a hair. He squeezed Dean’s hand once and held on still as he turned, the pair walking through the sun-starved grass and toward the nest. 

* * *

Cas had been right to be wary. 

There were six of them, all well-fed and unrelenting. 

The first two were easy enough. Castiel held the first one to wake by the arms and Dean, wielding his machete, finished it off before it could do any more than stain his shirt with its blood. The second came up behind Cas, holding a serrated blade of its own, but Dean grabbed the angel by the arm and pulled him out of the way. Cas was pliable for Dean, trusting, and he moved smoothly as he was pulled. The vamp tried to get a stab in at Dean, but it had picked the wrong angel to upset. Within seconds, it was dead, too. 

The problem was that the other four were now awake. Snarling, defensive things, Cas knew they wouldn’t go down easily. They now had the added incentive of their two dead nestmates to piss them off, and though it was daylight, it was dark in the house, with only some of the stormy light making its way through. Cas wasn’t quite so affected by this, but he worried about Dean’s ability to keep track of them in the darker corners of the room. His worry for Dean was a weakness, a hole in his armor, and he was so focused on watching Dean’s back that he missed a vampire that was right behind himself.

Its teeth were inches from tearing at his neck when something pierced it. Dean was there, plunging a syringe full of dead man’s blood into its neck, and it fell before it was finished off by them both. 

Three down. Three to go. 

Cas was feeling a bit better now, as the numbers drew closer to their favor, but he should have known better than to let even an inch of his guard down. 

He was focused on one of them, a wild one that was probably newly turned, when it happened. The vampire before him was far from a strategic creature, but it was animalistic, keening and rough with a primal strength in the way it wrestled against his blade. It kept him busy long enough for the other two to overwhelm Dean and pin him to the wall.

One had its arm pressing against Dean’s windpipe, cutting off his air, but Cas could _feel_ his distress in the room, feel the way Dean's pulse picked up, hear the small, gasping “Cas” that left his lips like a prayer. 

The hairs at the back of his neck stood at attention. With a pulse of adrenaline, he finished off the feral vamp and whipped around to find where the other two had Dean, snarling at him in the furthest corner of the room. 

“ _No_ ,” Cas all but growled, beginning to run to the other side of the room. 

Then: a spark. A flame. A ring. 

Cas stopped dead in his tracks, pure shock overtaking even the rage running through him. 

Holy fire. 

_Holy fire?_

He turned. On the side of the room opposite Dean, there stood a figure. Cas couldn’t see its face, but he could see what was beneath. 

“Brother--” he gasped.

“Hush, Castiel.” The angel stepped closer, a wicked smile crossing its borrowed face. It nodded toward Dean. It was calm. Too calm. “Watch what you created.”

His every nerve screamed at him to run to Dean, but he couldn’t. It was impossible. Cas knew that looking at him and being unable to reach him was going to be even harder than seeing the unexpected face of the angel that had come to join the fray, but what he saw was even worse than he'd expected.

Dean looked stricken. Guilty. Sad. 

The vampires were seconds away from closing their teeth in his neck. From draining him or turning him or worse. 

The human looked to Cas. _I’m sorry,_ he mouthed, and Cas had no time to respond before Dean’s eyes turned blue. 

Glowing, brilliant blue. Angelic blue, but...wrong, somehow. Flickering and thin. 

The blue of stolen grace, burning. 


	2. Flew Too High

_ Beating his homemade wings against the sun,  _

_ Icarus was clumsy,  _

_ but wing-torn, _

_ and plummeting towards the sea _

_ -E. L. Mayo _

* * *

**Two Weeks Earlier**

“I could come with you, Dean—“

Dean poked his head out of the bathroom, where he’d been busying himself with packing his travel toiletries away. He leaned against the doorframe with his toothbrush poking out of one side of his mouth. “For the last time, Cas,” he sighed, exasperated, “I’ll be fine. I’m just meeting Sam for some hunt he needs my help with. We’ve handled worse before.”

Castiel was sitting on the edge of the bed, frowning. “Yes, but it would be easier if I just—“

“ _ Cas. _ ” The name came out sharper than Dean had intended, and he winced. The hunter’s shoulders dropped and he turned back into the bathroom to spit out his toothpaste and rinse. He emerged a moment later and dropped down beside the angel. “Listen, it’s gonna be fine, alright? I’ll only be gone a few days. Promise to come back in one piece.”

Cas scowled down at the angel blade in his hands. He’d been spinning it, running his fingers over the handle in an effort to calm himself, but it wasn’t working. He huffed and let it fall onto the bedspread. “I just don’t understand why you don’t want me to come. Does Sam not trust me?”

“ ‘Course Sam trusts you—“

“So why only ask for you?”

There was a silence that stretched a beat too long. Dean looked uncomfortable, shifting where he sat, but he recovered, as he always did. “Say, how ‘bout when I come back, we take that break you’ve been asking for? Christ knows I could use some fuckin’ rest.” 

“You’re changing the subject.” Cas glared at Dean, but the hunter was unrelenting. He offered little more than his most innocent shrug, which wasn’t that innocent at all. The angel sighed. “Just. Come back soon, alright? And then we take a week off. Promise me.”

Dean grinned, relief playing at the edges of it. “I promise, Cas.”

* * *

Sam and Dean had left the main road behind miles ago. The old streetlights passed by less and less frequently until finally it was just them and the Impala’s headlights to disturb the night. Dean almost always took her with him still. He’d taught Cas how to hotwire a car if he needed to a while back, and he had his wings.

“You sure about this, Sam?” Dean asked, his voice betraying his unease.

Sam shrugged. “Not really. There’s not a lot of lore on this kind of thing. I mean, if it’s the method you’re having problems with, you could just ask Cas if he’s willing to…” Sam gestured vaguely at the angel blade that sat on the dash, the sharp edge flashing occasionally when the moon hit right. “He trusts you.”

“It ain’t about if he thinks I’ll hurt him. He’s not gonna be on board with this shit, man. He can’t know. Hell, I don’t even know if I’m on board.” 

“You’re the one that said you’re feeling like dead weight these days,” Sam pointed out. “Which isn’t true, by the way. You’re still one of the best hunters out there.”

Dean stared determinedly out the window of the car. He’d let Sam drive this time, mostly because he had no real clue where they were going. “Yeah, well. I know my shit, but that doesn’t mean I ain’t out here feeling like I don’t have much to contribute. Between your freaky powers and Cas’s whole angel thing…” The hunter shook his head. “Just don’t like it, man.”

“I get where you’re coming from. That’s why I figured all this out for you, y’know. Even I think it’s a risky game, though. You could just do what I do--”

“No way I can stomach demon blood, dude. That’s just. It’s one step too far for me.” Dean left it at that, although, privately, he knew it was more than just that. It’d taken time, but for the most part, he’d gotten past what Sam did. It still went against his instincts-- both the demon blood and the witchy shit-- but Sam was good at his core, and he was ultimately just taking advantage of something that had been forced on him as a kid. 

But Dean didn’t want any of that. He didn’t want to study spellwork, nor to lay hands on a demon for a second longer than he had to in order to kill it. No, he just wanted to feel like he was on the same level as Cas. Wanted to balance out their team, prove how much farther they could go and how much better they could work together if Dean could just  _ keep up _ . 

Even if Cas might hate him for it.

The thought made his stomach churn, but they’d get past it. Cas would see reason, just like they both had with Sam. Dean was just doing something for the greater good. And if it meant that he had to cross way past the line of sacrilege to do so, well. He’d never been on Heaven’s best side, anyway. 

Sam let him be for the rest of the drive, and they passed through the wooded road with little more than one of Dean’s mixtapes and the rumble of the engine to break into the silence. It was dark when they pulled up to the safehouse, one that even Bobby hardly ever used anymore. A last-ditch place, heavily warded and secure but not at all comfortable.    
  


Sam looked to Dean with a questioning look, to which Dean only nodded. Yeah, he was ready.

Sam cut the engine and tossed the keys to Dean across the hood, knowing he’d feel better just having them in hand. The elder Winchester pocketed them quickly. The weight of them in his pocket was familiar. An escape, if he chose to back out-- although at this point, he felt like he’d already gone too far to turn back. He followed Sam up the creaking steps to the house and watched as he unlocked the reinforced door before they both stepped inside.

The man inside was soldier-stiff and proud, though there was a noticeable flash of fear in his eyes when he saw that the boy king hunter had not only returned, but come back with another. His hands were chained above his head, the yellowed light of the moon breaking through just enough for Dean to see the heavy links. 

There was a pit in his stomach, but he couldn’t show weakness. Not now. He put on a stone-cold face and walked forward, hands stuffed in the pocket of his leather jacket. He stepped right up to the angel, tipping his head down to level his gaze with it with a sinful smirk.    
  


“What’d you say he did, Sammy?” he asked, without ever breaking eye contact with it.

The angel tried to open his mouth around the tightly-tied gag as if to speak, but Dean’s stare alone was sharp enough to silence him. 

“Wiped half a town off the map,” Sam replied honestly. It had been hard, finding an angel that had done  _ that  _ much damage, but he’d known they were out there, and he knew it would be easier for Dean to go through with this the first time if the creature was one they’d have killed regardless. 

Dean tsked, and there was a flash in his eyes. One that said  _ I’ve done this dance before _ . There was a part of him that was still touched by Hell, no matter how often Castiel sang his praises in the dead of night. The angel had too much faith in him. 

_ Maybe,  _ he thought bitterly,  _ maybe this will be the thing to cleanse me.  _

“Now, that ain’t so nice, is it?” he chided. A smooth darkness slid into his voice, sickly sweet and dangerous. “What’re we gonna do about that?”

Behind him, Sam had set a backpack on the ground. He knelt beside it now and carefully unpacked his supplies, one at a time. He shifted to sit cross-legged with his belongings splayed out in front of him, all resting by a sigil that looked fresher than the rest. He’d painted it when he’d first brought the angel here, and it stood violent red against the dusty floor. Sam lit two candles in the center of it, and between them, a bowl filled with carefully crushed herbs and spell ingredients that had been nearly impossible to find.

Dean’s throat was dry, but his guard never slipped. He didn’t move until he heard Sam start to speak behind him in well-versed Latin, his cue to come take his place in the ritual. He didn’t know every detail of it, didn’t want to ask, but he knew that it was meant to strengthen him, to shield and protect his body so it wouldn’t break when the grace did its thing. 

He’d heard that being possessed by an angel was like being strapped to a comet. He wondered what practically injecting one into himself would do. 

He came and knelt by the opposite end of the sigil, the gagged angel now writhing in its bonds behind him. It grunted and whined, but neither Winchester paid it any mind. 

Dean reached for his angel blade. He put his hand out between the candles, close enough to feel the warmth of the flames lick at his skin, and sliced a thin stripe across his palm. A drop of blood welled up, slow at first, before it dripped into the bowl. One, two, three drops fell, and Sam picked up one of the long candles and tipped the flame toward the bowl to ignite it without missing a beat in the spoken spell. 

Dean grit his teeth, trapping a cry behind them. There was a fire searing inside him, coating him from the inside out. He knew it wasn’t possible, but it felt to him like it was leaving nothing but ash behind, like it had emptied his veins to make room for something new. 

The last ingredient. 

The pain died down enough for him to look up to Sam. The firelight caught at Dean’s lashes, his lips parting in a question. His brother merely nodded. Dean braced himself and pushed against the cold floor to stand. One hand had a white-knuckled grip on the angel blade still, and he made his way to the frantic angel. 

He watched the emotions fly through the soldier’s eyes. Fear, sadness, anger,  _ resignation _ .

One cut. A line of red against the angel’s throat. 

Then, the prize. 

Brilliant blue, pouring out in smoking tendrils from the wound as the angel’s light faded. 

Dean tipped his head back, breathed it in, drank the power hanging in the air.

_ Clean.  _

* * *

**Present**

The vampires laid dead at Dean’s feet. 

He’d used a mighty amount of grace to smite the first, the one with its arm against his windpipe. It went down quick, ashes where its eyes had been. The second, a clean swipe of the machete, but the weapon soon dropped, falling loose from Dean’s grip the second the monster hit the ground. 

The heaven-blue faded from his eyes, flickering for a moment before the light blinked out altogether. Whatever grace was left inside of the human, it was waning. Stolen grace never lasted long, never fit quite right, least of all in a  _ human.  _ Still, Castiel had his suspicions that it wasn’t the first time Dean had used it. 

Whatever was inside of him, it had been in him for too long. The angel had been blind. He should’ve seen the change-- or perhaps he had, and hadn’t been able to face the thought. Dean had been acting strange ever since returning from his visit with his brother. They hadn’t taken the week off that Cas had been promised. The human was...restless. Eager. He’d insisted that there was a pressing hunt they had to attend to, that they’d take their rest soon. They’d taken out a werewolf pack, but they’d been separated in the midst of the hunt. 

Had Dean used the power then? Had he used grace to finish the hunt, only to look Castiel in the eye that night and never breathe a word of it?

No.  _ No _ . He trusted Dean. 

Had faith in him.

Been taught how to love by him. 

Whether it was from exhaustion or regret, the human fell now to his knees, staring up at Castiel. “Cas--” he breathed, and his voice broke. It was clear that this had not been how he’d meant for this to go. Perhaps he’d planned to tell Castiel the truth in a different way, or never at all. 

The angel couldn’t bear to look at him. Ringed by holy fire still, he turned towards the place where his brother Bartholomew waited, half-shrouded in the dark. “Why?” he asked, and he hated the desperation in his voice. He wasn’t meant to be weak. Wasn’t meant to show fear. “Why did you want me to see this?”

A slow smile spread over his fellow angel’s vessel. “We wanted you to see what you abandoned your home for, Castiel,” he replied, smooth and slow. He gestured to Dean, who looked torn between ripping the threat apart or destroying himself instead. “You threw it away for one man, a man who now feeds on the lifeblood of your family. And do you know what, Castiel?” Bartholomew said his name like a curse, a sound that brought a bitter taste. “He  _ enjoyed  _ it.”

Castiel took a step back. He shook his head, overwhelmed. There was danger here still. His brother-in-arms could put him down like the traitor he was, or kill Dean in front of him, or worse. His job was to protect Dean...but how could he do that now, knowing what Dean had done?

“You betrayed us, Castiel. Turned your back against your family. And for what?  _ This  _ man?” 

The angel stepped forward, walking leisurely around the ring of fire. The blade itched in Castiel’s hand, but he did nothing, simply watching as his brother went to Dean. The hunter tried to stand, but he was abruptly shoved down, a finger hooked beneath his chin to make him look up at the angel. “Look at you,” Bartholomew hummed, his voice tinged with false pity. “The righteous man. You’ve fallen almost as far as your boyfriend over there. Both abominations.” 

“Cas—”

“Will pay for his crimes, just the same as you.” A slow smile spread across his face. There was a moment of stillness, a false calm that settled in the room. 

Abruptly, a blade slipped down from the enemy angel’s sleeve. It was in his hand before Cas could even blink, and then he was raising it, the impossibly sharp tip coming down toward Dean’s chest—

A blade landed in Bartholomew’s back, finding its way into his vulnerable vessel with sickening ease. Castiel stood in the ring of holy fire, gasping. He’d thrown the blade with every ounce of strength, every minute of training and skill he had beneath his belt.

The angel fell, first to his knees, grace slipping free from his mouth and rising to the ceiling before it dissipated. Gone. Cas didn’t miss the way Dean watched it go. The hunger that waited behind his eyes, however reluctant. This hole he had dug for himself was not a shallow one. Bartholomew’s form dropped, sloping down until his body hit the ground. The weapon fell loose from his hand.

Dean looked down at the blade. Up to Cas. “Cas, I—“

“The fire.”

The coldness in Cas’s eyes was bone-chilling, an ocean turned to ice. Dean hadn’t seen him this shut down since the beginning, the first few times they’d met. Since that first big shift, nothing had even come close to this. For the first time, the weight of just how much he may have fucked up hit him like a train.

What if Cas couldn’t forgive him?

He could sit here on his knees and promise that he would never do it again, but even now, he could feel that that would be a lie. He’d had his first taste, and if Sam’s demon blood was half as satisfying as this, he could see why his brother hadn’t been able to stop. Not even if he tried.

The hunter stood on shaking legs. The blade stayed on the ground as he stepped in closer, slowly removing his jacket. He threw it onto the fire. Most of the ring stayed lit, but it was enough for Cas to step through and up to Dean.

Written on his face, the human saw what Cas really was-- or at least, what he had been. He saw a powerful seraph, a soldier that had torn Hell apart to save him. He saw what demons feared.

There was a flicker of something else, too. With the grace fading out inside him, it was faint, but it was there. An outline of wings, flaring defensively behind Castiel. Here, on Earth, and viewed through the lens of stolen power, they were like shadow. He’d have thought they were, if it wasn’t for the unearthly quality of them, the faint sheen of iridescence. They were there, powerful symbols of the life Cas had led, a part of him that even his time with Dean would never shake. 

They stood in silence, inches apart. Usually, their closeness felt natural and  _ right.  _ This was anything but. Cas looked to the form of his dead brother on the ground for a long moment before his gaze raised back to Dean. There was a ghost of bitterness there, haunted and sharp.  _ You did this _ , his eyes seemed to say. And he was right. If it weren’t for Dean’s actions, Bartholomew never would have come, would never have been killed by his own ex-commander. 

“Cas, I--”

And the angel was gone, leaving emptiness in his wake. 

* * *

Dean  _ tried _ . 

He tried everything to reach Castiel. He called, texted, prayed. Prayed again, over and over and well into the night, until he wasn’t even sure what he was asking for anymore. Forgiveness? Understanding? 

He’d been away from Cas plenty of times, and yet it had never felt like this, an aching absence in the room. He sulked for days in what had been their motel room, hoping for the angel’s return, but it never came. Finally, he couldn’t take the silence anymore, the kind that no daytime re-run or radio could fill. 

He pulled up Sam’s contact. Sam understood-- he knew Cas, knew the truth about what Dean had done and why. He would support him. 

Did Dean deserve that support?

He scrolled up to Bobby. Bobby would chew his ass out for this. Tell him that he’d fucked up, that he had to pull himself back from the edge before he fell, that Cas had every right to leave. Perhaps even to hate him, although the very word burned a scar in Dean’s chest. 

Dean threw his phone to the carpet and dropped down onto the edge of the bed. There was an empty whiskey bottle tangled in the sheets, takeout boxes full of food he’d hardly touched on the table by the door. He’d become a mess of guilt and uncertainty, but the worst part was the  _ itch.  _ The spell-fire that had burned a space in his veins had left him empty and aching, now that there was no grace to fill what it had left behind. On the surface, he was fine. Normal. His heart pumped a steady beat, his lungs filled with air and demanded more, but he knew that something had broken. 

He needed more. He didn’t want Sam’s help or Bobby’s detox, he just wanted all of the cracks to be filled. He wanted Cas to come back and cancel out the stillness in the room with his light, and he wanted the low pulse of power in his veins that the grace had brought. He’d been drunk on it once, and he itched to have that feeling again and never let it go. 

Dean looked down at his wrist, to the Enochian  _ C  _ inked there on his skin. It had been a drunken decision, funny at first. He’d been out with Charlie and her new girlfriend on a rare night off. Cas had stayed back to work on some research, saying that he trusted Charlie to keep Dean out of trouble. Really, though, Stevie was the voice of reason that night, coaxing a glass of water into them both in-between the rounds of drinks. Charlie was like Dean’s reckless little sister he’d never asked for, and he loved it. She was adventurous and fun and smart as a whip, and although Stevie had confiscated their car keys, it hadn’t stopped Charlie and Dean from sneaking across the street to a tattoo shop. By the time Stevie found them, breathless but seemingly unsurprised, they both had fresh ink standing out against their skin. 

That night, faced with Cas’s shock, Dean had laughed, the sound carried smooth and loud on vodka-tinted breath. “It’s- it’s like an angelic tramp stamp,” the hunter grinned. He straightened up with pride. “Like you’re always kinda with me.”

Dean closed his eyes.  _ Always with me _ . Right. 

He knew it was unfair, but the itch brought bitterness in its wake. He was angry, now. Angry that Cas had left at what Dean thought to be the first sign of trouble. So he’d made a mistake. So what? Was he supposed to sit around for the rest of his life, be the pitiable addition to the hunting dream team of Boy King Sam Winchester and Heaven-trained Castiel? 

Dean’s jaw clenched and he tipped his chin up toward the ceiling, toward the sky. 

_ “You left me, _ ” he cried out, not caring if the thin walls carried his words. “One fucking bump in the road, and you just-- you  _ just-- _ ” 

There was a break in his voice, and Dean swallowed it down. No. He would not be weak, not anymore. 

“Fuck you, Castiel,” he hissed, and it was not a yell but a whisper, violent in the way it fell, unheard, against the silence of the room. 

Dean gathered his dented phone, his keys, his blade. 

He didn’t look back when he left. Whatever part of him  _ thought  _ that it heard the soft rush of wings cutting through the room, he was certain it was wrong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! most importantly, thank you for reading this far -- i plan on updating every week or so, but that isn't a fixed schedule and chapters could come much quicker or fall a few days late because of the holidays, so just keep an eye out! i have all ten chapters roughly outlined, so it's all a matter of time <3


End file.
